


Trigger Discipline

by thought



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Roy Mustang's political aspirations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 12:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17560724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: The bond between a meister and their weapon is never ordinary.





	Trigger Discipline

Roy Mustang has known since he was eight years old that he is going to be a Meister, and, furthermore, that he is going to wield a scythe. Which he will make into a Death Weapon, and then into a political chess piece, his own partner at the right hand of Lord Death himself. He’s mostly right.

Roy has questions and plans and energy burning just under his skin, and a soft, fragile spot right at the centre of his chest just big enough for a city to fit inside. Roy is ready to spark a revolution, a new world to grow from the ashes. Forest fire. Phoenix. Take your pick of the metaphor, he will embody them all. Lord Death wields a scythe and at eight years old Roy doesn’t yet understand that the master’s tools will never dismantal the master’s house.

He learns.

When Roy is 13, he feels Riza Hawkeye's hand firm and solid against his in a handshake incongruous for their age but comforting for them both. A week later it's hot metal heavy and patient in his hand, his finger on a trigger, a steady weight at the back of his thoughts, a shield to keep the fire inside of him from sparking off an explosion. Ensuring the fire only goes where it’s meant to. A controlled burn. Roy aims Riza. Riza aims Roy.

Ready.

Fire.

*

"It is extremely unusual for a Meister to wield two weapons," Ling's professor tells him, frowning. "Perhaps it's something to try when you're a little older, with more experience."

Ling smiles like the flash of a knife blade in the dark. "You're not the first person to tell me that. Which reason will you choose? I shouldn't partner with someone I've known my entire life because we've already picked up each other's bad habits and it's good to start fresh? Or I shouldn't partner with a weapon that is so demanding and unique, that I lack the mental fortitude to wield him?"

The professor frowns disapprovingly. Ling keeps smiling, keeps his body language open and relaxed. He thinks he could smile through the end of the world, if he had to.

"Well, let me see what you can do so far," the professor says, finally.

Ling raises his arms, feels the pressure of carbon covering his body, the weight of claws on his hands. He lifts one hand a bit higher and instantly the familiar thwack of a sword hilt landing in his palm, blade gleaming to catch the sunlight. He thinks his eyes have changed colour. It's performative, the drama of it, the elegance and the pose and the timing, but he has spent his life being taught how to fight with every weapon at his disposal. He's not going to stop now.

*

Ed should have been born a weapon. He knows this the first time he sees another kid bullying Al and all Ed can do is punch him with fists that feel far too vulnerable to be any real defense.

He's the older brother. It's his job to do the protecting. Al's the one with the patience and the understanding of when to lash out and when to step back. Al should be the one making the decisions, planning the strategies. Ed should be the blade, the hammer, the spikes, whatever form he might take. Ed should be the one taking the hits and giving them back. Al should never know what it feels like to be coated in someone else's blood.

Ed clutches his brother in his hand, metal on metal, spear point pressed against a witch's throat, and thinks:

"It should have been me.”

*

If it were up to Scar, he would never transform.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Mei crosses her arms over her chest and glares up at him, jaw set. “You’re being ridiculous,” she tells him, imperiously. “If you transform we’ll be less visible and better defended.”

“I will not allow myself to become a weapon in anyone else’s hands.”

She huffs. “So what, you’ll murder people but only as long as you’re the one in control of it?”

“Does that seem… unreasonable to you?” he says, dryly.

Mei sighs gustily, like the world is asking her to bear a great burden and she wants everyone to know. “I’m a very good meister, you know. I even killed one of my older brothers. You wouldn’t have anything to worry about. I think we’d resonate pretty easily.”

Scar suspects she’s right, which is perhaps the most convincing reason never to do it. “Let’s go,” he says, turning away. “I’ve already given you my answer, this conversation is over.”

“Being wielded by a meister doesn’t make you weak, you know,” Mei says, bounding up beside him.

“No,” he says. “It makes you dead. You’re not the only one who killed a brother.”

If it were up to Scar, he’d never transform. But it’s not like his brother is around to do it anymore. Scar doesn’t trust meisters. Scar doesn’t trust himself. Same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://thought-42.tumblr.com)


End file.
